It was really fucking adorable. And hot. Hot-dorable.
“Shakespeare’s saying that emotions aren’t always rational,” he said. “They can’t exist within the framework of reason. Now, we might take this as a kind of warning that our unreasonable emotions can steer us wrong—like with Claudio. But I like to think it’s an acknowledgment of our contrary human nature. And whether Shakespeare would agree or not, I think it’s kind of a gift. Imagine never being able to do something as wholly irrational and unreasonable as falling for the hot guy screaming angry sonnets at your house in the dead of night.” He stuck his hands in his pockets, and one side of his mouth tipped up in an affectionate grin. “Who’d want to live in that kind of world?”
Throat tight, I shut off the faucet, then turned and twined my damp hands around Theo’s neck. “I love you, Theo Hancock,” I whispered, staring into those pretty eyes I loved. “You’re the most wonderful, unreasonable thing that ever happened to me.”
Theo ran his hand through my hair and then cupped the side of my neck. His eyes sparkled. “As the bard himself might have said… ‘Same, baby, same.’”
I laughed out loud. And then I pulled him closer and kissed him slow and deep, trying to pour every unspoken thing into it. His lips were warm and firm as they moved under mine, and I pressed in closer, curling my fingers into the hair at the back of his neck. When his strong hands slid up the back of my shirt and he made a low hum like he was already sinking into it, the sound vibrated right down my spine, and I could have cried at the relief of it.
Kissing him was always a little overwhelming, not because he took over—he didn’t, usually—but because he paid attention, and being the focus of Theo Hancock’s attention was a heady thing. I never felt more right, more confident, more whollymethan when I was in Theo’s arms.
My heart thumped crazily, like it wanted to leap directlyfrom my chest to Theo’s. My whole body felt keyed up; every millimeter of skin was tuned to Theo’s wavelength and hungry for contact, for friction, for the dizzy, helpless, perfect closeness I only ever got with him.
His hand cupped my jaw, holding me still. “You’re trying to distract me, Mr. Sunday,” he said in an evil Bond-villain voice. “It won’t work.”
Laughing unsteadily, I pulled him off the counter and manhandled him—backward—through the living room.
“Oh, it will,” I murmured against his lips. “It definitely will.”
That earned me a grin that was a little crooked, a little wild. “Cocky little shit,” he said affectionately.
“Yourcocky little shit,” I reminded him, and his grin got wilder.
“All fucking mine,” he agreed with a growl in his voice. He turned us and backed me into the wall by the bedroom door. “Thatwas never in doubt.” He slid his hands under my shirt again, his palms gliding over my bare skin with uncompromising ownership, pulling the thin material up and over my head.
“Theo,” I whispered. “I need?—”
“I know what you need.” He stepped closer, forcing his muscled thigh between mine. I was still reeling at the welcome intrusion when he grasped both of my wrists in one hand and trapped them against the wall over my head in a pose reminiscent of the one I’d tried earlier. “This is what you’ve been practicing for, isn’t it?”
“Fuck.” I laughed breathlessly. It was crazy that even after all this time, he could still make my blood fizz and pound.
“Mine.” He dragged his free hand down my abs, snagging at my waistband. Then he moved lower, fondling my already half-hard dick, tracing the shape of it through the silky mesh. “Mine.”
My eyes burned again, so I shut them. With a shaky breath, I nodded.
“Mine,” he whispered against my lips before kissing me gently. Then he pulled back, waited for my eyes to open and meet his, and set his hand directly over my heart. “Mine,” he said once more.
I wasn’t sure whether I wanted to tackle-kiss him or burst into tears, but I didn’t get a chance to do either because Theo was already moving. With a final kiss to my jaw, he guided me backward into our bedroom and then further, until my knees hit the bed. With a firm push, he sent me down onto the mattress, and I barely had time to gasp before he was straddling me, flipping me, and easing my shorts down my thighs with reverent hands.
He knelt between my legs, kissed my hip bone, and dragged me up to my knees with my legs spread wide, my chest and stomach against the mattress. Then he kissed me again, just below the curve of my ass. His hands slid away from my hips and?—
Fuck.
Theo gripped my ass in both hands with strong, sure fingers, spread me open, and licked a slow, deliberate stripe over my hole. “Mine,” he whispered against my damp skin.
“Theo.” I clutched our comforter in both hands and arched involuntarily, caught between squirming away from the overwhelming sensation and pressing back to beg for more. The movement made my dick rub against the bed, and pleasure cracked through me like the lash of a whip.
Theo’s tongue circled and pressed, hot and wet and relentless. As he worked me, he made these little hums and groans, encouraging me to rock against the bed and ratchet my own pleasure even higher. My toes curled, my thighs shook, and my breath was reduced to shallow pants in time with my rocking.
Theo never rushed when it counted, and this was noexception. He worshipped me with a kind of thoroughness that made my bones liquefy, alternately using his tongue to lap at my rim, to fuck my hole, and to murmur obscene things about how good I tasted, how gorgeous I was, how much he wanted me.
I was molten under his mouth, hard and leaking, when I finally wailed, “Fuck me, Theo,please.”
But when Theo pulled back, I groaned at the loss.
“Roll over, baby,” he ordered. “I want you to look at my eyes.”
I obeyed on trembling limbs and found Theo’s face flushed, his lips wet, his green eyes dark with love and hunger. He climbed up my body and kissed me, fierce and messy. Then he grabbed lube from the nightstand drawer, slicked himself, and guided his cock inside me slowly, his gaze never leaving mine.
